


I Will Fear No Evil

by ButterBard



Series: FebuWhump 2021 [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (Less than Jaskier but both boys go through Pain), Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fear of Death, FebuWhump2021, Geralt Whump, I can't stress enough how stupid this miscommunication is, Idiots in Love, Improper Use of Axii (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Mind Control, Miscommunication, Threat of torture, Whump, but the ending is sweet i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterBard/pseuds/ButterBard
Summary: Oh, how selfish he was about to be. Oh, how he couldn’t bring himself to care.“I need you to—“ Jaskier tried to slow his breathing. “I need you to Axii me.”Geralt frowned deeply. “What? No.”-x-Kidnapped and without much hope of escape, Jaskier's anxiety rises fast. Afraid of giving up information when in pain, he begs Geralt to Axii him. When they manage to live, there's... a lot to talk about. And perhaps predictably, a lot of avoiding the conversation.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: FebuWhump 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139339
Comments: 25
Kudos: 503
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	I Will Fear No Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Happy Febuwhump 2021! I'm aiming to go for the entire month, and this was a surprisingly difficult start, but I'm fairly happy with the result. Extra warnings for anxiety around and discussions of violence, pain, and torture. Very little on-screen. But I promise a happy ending! (Title taken from the bible verse.)

For the most part, camping with an army chasing you wasn’t much different than camping without an army chasing you, Jaskier thought. When with Geralt, things were usually barebones anyway. The brief time they’d camped with Yennefer had been luxury but four people were easier to track than two and two, so they’d once again had to split off. And so their camp was as basic as usual, a few more traps set and more care taken to blend in with the forest around them.

But all in all, it felt… normal. It was almost like old times, deliriously far away now, where they would camp in the woods when they found each other again on the Path, would stay up talking late into the night for no particular reason.

Jaskier looked up at the tree beside him, which was losing some of its honey-colored leaves. Nestled in a branch were two turtle doves, cuddled together against the slight morning breeze.

“Geralt!” he whispered loudly. “Geralt! Look!' He pointed up. Across the tiny camp, Geralt looked up from fiddling with his potions and raised an eyebrow. Jaskier waved his pointed hand excitedly. The witcher looked up, and after a beat, went back to his potions. “Birds,” he said.

“Turtle doves, Geralt, two in one place is lucky. A good omen for love! And friendship!”

“Don’t look like turtles to me,” Geralt said. “And I’ve never heard anything about doves and love."

“That’s… Geralt. I know you’re not one for human mythos, but they’re _turtle doves_. It’s… its famous, Geralt! It’s a _thing_!”

“Never heard of it.”

“It is very much a thing!” Jaskier said, a bit louder than he probably should have, but they were safe here. He always felt safer with Geralt. But he dropped his voice again, just in case. “It is very much a thing, Geralt. Turtle doves are a pillar of love songs. Even I’ve used them more than once! Don’t you ever listen?”

“No.”

“You!” Jaskier picked up an acorn and threw it at his head, but Geralt caught it easily. “You menace. I try and make a nice point about doves and you…”

Geralt was smirking at him.

“Ohhhh, oh you complete ass! Mr. ‘Oblivious Witcher’ strikes again, well pardon me for wanting to trust you, for wanting to educate you! When will you stop pulling this?”

Geralt chuckled. “When you stop falling for it so easily,” he said, pocketing the acorn.

Jaskier went to look back at the birds but stopped when he saw Geralt’s raised hand and his face-- which went from concentrating, to confused, to panicked, all in a second.

“Jaskier— behind me, now!”

The bard didn’t waste a moment, scrambling desperately over to his friend, whipping a small dagger off of his belt. The woods were silent, and Geralt’s eyes were blown wide. He started to lower himself down slowly, eyes up and sword drawn, in an attempt to grab one of his potions. Jaskier looked around frantically.

And then, the birds flew off in a rush.

It all happened at once. Bandits— no, more professional than that, but quite not Nilfgaardian soldiers— seized on them, easily 15, but he didn’t have time to count. He swung wildly, but he was too scared, too wrapped up in protecting himself and trying to watch for signals from Geralt. He landed a lucky punch in some bastard's face and swung to see another figure sneaking up on Geralt. “Look out!”

If Geralt turned, he didn’t see; a bag was thrown over his head, his knees kicked out from under him. Before he could fight back, his arms and legs were being held down and tied up and felt a pit in his stomach as he heard Geralt shout and then fall silent, followed by a dull thud on the ground below.

“GERALT!”

The captors quickly ripped the bag off and stuffed some cloth in his mouth, securing it with a tie around his head, and finally shoved the bag back down. Fuck.

He tried to listen to them— but all he got was that they didn’t have far to travel before making it to their quarters, and they didn’t have dimeritium, but wouldn’t need it because they’d send word to Nilfgaard immediately. They wouldn’t have long to escape.

“I’m taking the bard,” one said, kicking him in the stomach. “Wanna see him squirm. Then we’ll carve something out of this beast,” and Jaskier saw red behind the bag. He screamed, thrashed, tried desperately to fight off the ropes.

“Gods. Don't you ever shut up?” asked one captor, before Jaskier felt a blunt pain on his head and his world went black.

* * *

Jaskier came to slowly and deeply uncomfortably. It was musty, smelled foul, and the air hung in his lungs like molasses. His arms were behind his back, and one of his shoulders— he tried to move it and hissed against the pain— was definitely dislocated. The cold steel of handcuffs cut into his wrists, stiff and uncomfortable, and he was knelt in a liquid he didn’t want to look at, much less consider the origins of. His head ached enough as it was.

His knees were also touching something warm, solid; when he opened his eyes blearily he found that it was Geralt’s own bent legs, slotted between his own. His vision swam, his stomach lurched, and he shut his eyes tightly to stop sickness coming on. Jaskier took a few deep breaths— feeling lucky he had the lungs of a bard— and steeled himself. He looked up.

He could barely see. The cell was… he’d had _closets_ bigger than this. It was clearly a very temporary holding space, the narrow walls definitely designed to make them panic, and Jaskier found it might actually be working. Geralt’s head hung, and he breathed deeply, but his slight snarl against the smell of the room proved him to be awake. Thank the gods, that was something. Geralt’s face was only a few inches from his own, and Jaskier had to restrain himself from burying his face in the Witcher’s shoulder, or bumping their foreheads together.

“Well. Good morning,” he said softly, trying to coax out a reaction. All he got was Geralt’s next intake of breath sounding a bit deeper. This was bad. If Geralt was still waiting, still thinking, this was worse than Jaskier had thought. He looked around— his witcher's wrists were in handcuffs much like his own, but his ankles were cuffed to the floor as well and a heavy chain went around his middle several times. His neck had a thick cuff around it too, and though it was attached to the wall by a chain instead of into the wall itself, it restricted his movements enough to make it an issue. They were keeping his witcher worse than one would keep an animal. It made him sick. It made him want to rip them apart.

These captors were not the most sophisticated, and may not have had dimeritium, but Geralt’s bindings were solid enough that there wouldn’t be much for him to do. But _Jaskier_ could help. He could always help, some way, somehow, even if it was small.

At the top of the wall behind Geralt was the one and only light source for the cell, a long, narrow window only as tall as his fist might be but a foot or two long. In front of it were thick metal bars; likely iron, his mind supplied unhelpfully. Jaskier set to work dreaming up an escape plan. If— if he just stood on Geralt’s shoulders, maybe he could pry the bars apart, and punch the glass out? But what good would that do— it wasn’t like it was tall enough for either of them to squeeze through. He looked to his right, and a dark stone wall greeted him, and to his left, where the door to the cell stood imposing, solid, and very much locked. He hung his head and tried to fight his creeping anxiety. Maybe there _wasn’t_ anything he could do this time.

Okay. They’d been in tough spots before, _he’d_ been in bad spots before but this… this was different. This was Nilfgaard, and this was Geralt. He could take Nilfgaard alone, no amount of torture could bring any answers out of him, but if they used Geralt against him… he felt doubt in himself sneak in. The thought of Geralt, hurt because he wouldn’t release information turned his stomach, and he realized that, much as he wanted to, he couldn’t promise not to say something.

Fear began to rise in him. He rarely was afraid in these situations— he was good at converting feelings into something productive— emotional alchemy, he liked to think of it— but that was because there was always a way out. Every situation had an escape button if only you knew where to look. But he knew they would stop at nothing to know where Yennefer and Ciri were, and that was different. He knew they wanted Geralt dead, and that was different. That was _so much different_.

“Jaskier.” He looked up. Geralt was looking at him with concern and perhaps frustration. “You need to breathe.” He could only nod.

“Yep.”

Silence again. Something dripped onto the floor beside him.

“How did they…? Fuck, was it me with the birds? Did they hear?”

“No, they had a silencing charm. Should have heard them earlier, though.”

Jaskier looked at him, pained. “It’s not your fault. No point in lingering on it anyhow.” He shifted his knees and looked desperately around the cell again. “Well.”

“It's— I’ll get you out.”

“I’m not interested if it’s not both of us, Geralt.”

Blue met gold. They’d had this conversation before. Geralt sighed and looked around their cell.

“I don’t have much.”

“Yeah, well. Not giving us a fair fight, are they?” He hoped some light-heartedness would quell his fears, but it did nothing. Anxiety continued to creep in.

“They’re not.”

“Wouldn’t stand a chance otherwise.”

“No,” Geralt said with a huffed laugh. They both knelt there, breathing, looking at each other.

Jaskier’s resolve broke. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Geralt agreed.

There was nothing they could do. They were stuck. There was nothing. There was nobody coming and no ace up their sleeves. There was _nothing_. He’d have to suffer this, and die? Watch his friend be tortured? Be tortured himself? Let them take everything from him and give them what they wanted— either tears or information, or both. He should be brave but fuck, he was everything they’d always said he was, wasn’t he? A coward. He strained against his cuffs and they cut into his skin, unyielding. He thrashed about for a moment, and Geralt just looked at him sadly. Oh, fuck. He stopped, his body suddenly feeling like lead.

“I…” and suddenly the panic was overtaking him. Fuck. -Fuck. What if he couldn’t manage it? What if he wasn’t strong enough? He was going to die here, he knew it, that didn’t feel like anxiety, that was just realistic. That wasn’t even his fear, anymore, there was a dim acceptance of it in him.

They’d talked about this situation. They’d planned for it. They all knew each other's last fucking wishes, and gods, Yennefer and Ciri were going to have to deal with all of it alone. And— well, he knew he was a coward, everyone did, but this surprised him— what he was so, so deeply scared of was the pain. Of what they would do to him, of what it would be like to watch Geralt suffer, of all of it. Gods. He was shaking, he knew it, and Geralt was saying something but he couldn’t even hear him.

Oh but— but _Geralt_. Oh, the cuffs weren’t dimeritium.

Oh, how selfish he was about to be. Oh, how he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I need you to—“ Whatever Geralt was saying, he stopped. Jaskier tried to slow his breathing. “I need you to Axii me.”

Geralt frowned deeply. “What? No.”

“Geralt. I can’t— if they have you, I’m not sure I can do this. Please, gods, I know it's selfish, I’ll give you anything in return but—“ Jaskier looked up, met his Witcher’s eyes, and did not look away.“This may be my last request of you Geralt. Please. Axii me.”

“I have no time for this. What would—“

“Just— tell me not to feel pain. Or fear. Make it easier, Geralt, please— I love you, I _love you,_ and if I see them hurt you I can’t promise what I’d say to make it stop. If they get bad enough— Geralt. Please. I can’t watch that.” He heard footsteps in the corridor, and though he couldn’t tell where they were going, it made everything more urgent. He realized tears were streaming down his face, cutting tracks through the grime, and he wondered numbly how long they’d been falling. “Geralt. Please. Please, dear heart, let me find some peace, help me protect you, Yennefer, Ciri, for _gods sakes_ Geralt—”

“I can’t—”

“You can, Geralt, you can, I’m asking, I’m begging, my fate will be the same just please, please don’t make it hurt, I can’t—”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is— so you will—“

“Okay. I…” Geralt shut his eyes tight and took a shuttering breath. “Fine. Close your eyes.”

Jaskier let his lids fall closed and realized the tears were coming in earnest. He was taking in small gasps of air, filled with mucus and completely undignified. He wanted so badly to be brave this time. He wanted it so badly. But he wasn’t strong enough and he knew it. Maybe he never had been. At least it’d all be over soon.

* * *

Geralt swallowed and opened his eyes. Jaskier was shaking, trying to breathe deeply but small sobs kept breaking through. Jaskier didn’t cry, he just didn’t; not when they were captured, not when he lost a competition, not when he was rejected. Jaskier was soft but this, this was new, and he’d known the man two decades now. He’d never seen him like this. It hurt. Against his nature, he wanted to reach out and— touch? Hold? Something. Anything but this.

But there wasn’t much else to do. Jaskier wasn’t wrong, was the worst part— if he couldn’t find them a way out, there was a good chance they’d kill the bard to hurt the witcher, torture Jaskier to get information or force him to watch Geralt be tortured. He could take the pain, and he knew Jaskier knew that, but _watching it happen_ was another matter. Just as he was watching Jaskier suffer now.

His best friend was knelt in front of him in a tiny, dim cell, and asking for peace and had said— had said he _loved_ —

Geralt shook off the thought. No. Not now. Couldn’t deal with that now.

He adjusted himself best he could to cast the sign before stopping. Jaskier’s tears and hiccuping breaths were slowing a bit.

Maybe he had to deal with it now.

“You— Jaskier, you know I—“

“Yes of course I do, Geralt.” His heart seized a bit. “All of it. Everything. It's okay. It's okay.” He rested his head against his bard’s soft hair. He didn’t deserve this fate. “Thank you,” he was whispering, “Thank you. You can do it. I’m ready. I love you, Geralt, do it now. You can do this.”

With fingers he could not feel, Geralt made the sign of Axii. “You will not feel pain. You will not feel fear, nor grief. You’ll be at peace.”

“No pain. No fear, no grief. Peace,” the bard replied thickly. Geralt felt the sign take hold and drew back to get a better look at his friend. Jaskier looked up blearily, almost drunkenly, and gave a lopsided smile. “Oh, Geralt. It’s lovely to be so close to you.”

Geralt took a breath. Footsteps drew nearer. Jaskier’s face was tracked with tears, and he still hiccuped a breath occasionally. He smiled still, his body loose of anxiety.

“Have I ever told you how stunning you are up close? It’s really something. Mmm. You seem tense, love. Whatever it is, it’s okay now. Oh Geralt, you really should relax a bit. Things are nice here. Peaceful.”

It occurred to him then how often he had unconsciously been spurred into action by watching Jaskier in pain. Seeing him hurt, or scared, or angry at injustice, or under threat he didn’t deserve, that was always Geralt’s cue to spare no expense; to fix the problem, heal the hurt. Protect his bard. And here his bard was, no fear, no hurt, no anguish. And it kicked up the same feelings in him but with something new as well. He didn’t want to think about it.

Jaskier had said _love_. And not in his flowery, Jaskier way. Love.

Ah.

He heard keys in the lock. Without a doubt, it was their captors, come to snap dimeritium around him while they had the chance. He strained against his restraints but they wouldn’t budge.

“I do love you, you know,” Jaskier said softly. He rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder. “You are so easy to love, dear. I wish you’d let yourself be. There’s so much of it waiting for you.”

No, he thought, he wouldn’t let his bard die here.

* * *

The thing about not feeling fear, Geralt thought belatedly, running through the forest with a bleeding bard in his arms, is that it allowed one to do absolutely stupid, reckless, and possibly brilliant things.

A bit like how Jaskier, seeing Geralt being handled roughly, head smashed once, twice, three times against the cold wet stone walls, had broken his own hand to escape his cuffs, stolen a sword off one of the soldiers, and slain three of them off without a thought of his own safety. He hadn’t seemed angry, or vengeful, or scared, just a calm man with a purpose that didn’t phase him. He’d knicked the key off a body, brought Geralt out of his chains, and quickly caught a sword through his side as he straightened up. But then it was Geralt’s turn to swing a sword, and before long they were out. 

Keeping the overly calm Jaskier running had been a task in it of itself, but once they made it into the deeper woods, Geralt realized that it wasn’t that Jaskier’s wound was minor, but rather that he still didn’t feel the pain. And in the running he’d torn the wound more— Geralt didn’t want to look at it just yet, but it turned his stomach to see so much more blood soaking through his already grimey, stained chemise.

So now he was carrying all of their things he'd rescued from their captors before fleeing; his bag of potions, Jaskier’s small sack, his swords, Jaskier’s lute that had lain beside it, and the bard himself in his ever-wearying arms. His head ached dully from being slammed repeatedly against the wall, and the few wounds he’s sustained, though healing, twinged in protest. When he finally found Roach (the only god he dared pray to at this point in his life) he threw everything on her back with the promise of apples and sugar, and they were off.

* * *

Jaskier’s head throbbed and ached. His side was stiff and there was a shooting pain in his leg. Both knees felt… off. One of his hands was so bandaged up he couldn’t move it at all, and his attempt to wiggle his fingers brought tears to his eyes. He let out a short involuntary cry against the sharp pain. And he was _famished_.

But there was something soft underneath him, and his clothes felt fresh and new. The air was sweet with… was that one of his oils? The rosemary one.

A moment later he heard footsteps approach and a door swing open carefully. He opened his eyes to see the blurry form of Geralt, who tried wordlessly to give him water, holding the glass to his lips. He sipped, but couldn’t bear to look his friend in the face. Fuck. What a coward he’d been, what an utter fool, what an ass to not believe Geralt would always get them out of trouble— how selfish he’d been. How disgusting Geralt must think him now.

He took a few sips and then turned away, and the glass was set back down. He could feel Geralt stay a moment, hovering over the bed, before crossing the room again quietly. Jaskier looked around as his friend left, took in the small 2 bedroom inn room, and nearly said something before Geralt softly closed the door behind him, not looking back.

Fuck. He wouldn’t even look at Jaskier now. He was doing this because he was a good man, and that was all. Jaskier didn’t deserve this kindness. Tears fell again. He didn’t deserve any of this, he should have— should have let them— should have—

He bit back sobs and tried to think of something else, but all he could imagine was Geralt looking at him, disappointed and ashamed.

* * *

The next few days were just as bad as the first the bard had come awake.

Geralt had wanted to give him time, space, but Jaskier wouldn’t even look at him now. He’d thought he was going to die, after all. He’d said too much. He’d exaggerated. He regretted saying what he did.

Geralt understood that— loving a Witcher would be shameful even to the most accepting humans. He couldn’t fault Jaskier. He wouldn’t. He faulted himself, for believing it was more than the pleading of a man afraid of death.

So he fed him, told him he’d spent a day and half asleep, at an inn that owed him a favor, that they were safe, for a bit. And told him that all of his wounds, (a stab in his side, a sprained ankle, a few broken fingers, a deep bruise on his thigh, and one on his rib,) wouldn’t leave many lasting issues once they were mended. They just needed patience. And the dislocation was healed— Geralt had fixed the shoulder while Jaskier was under the Axii. He was clean, no more matted blood on his hair or filth-ridden clothes. He’d keep the wound clean and then the bard could take over looking after it himself.

Jaskier hadn’t met his eyes.

He knew Jaskier would want to split ways as soon as he could leave, but that was difficult when Nilfgaard was chasing them… so Geralt prepared his arguments to get Jaskier to stay, and resigned himself to a colder winter than usual.

* * *

The two danced around each other for days. Geralt ran his purse dry, and took odd jobs, waiting for a time it was either safe to contact Yennefer and ask for help or safe for Jaskier to start moving again, and helped his friend eat and drink twice a day. Jaskier diligently ate, drank, and slept, and barely spoke a word.

Until the evening of the fifth day. Geralt sat on the second bed, polishing and sharpening his swords methodically, the sweet-sharp sound of the blades giving some life to the otherwise silent room. He was waiting for a bath to be filled and pretended the silence was normal, that he was human, and was waiting to hear when they were done filling the basin. He ran his hands up and down the sword. It didn’t need any more polishing. He rubbed it some more.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, and Geralt’s movements came to a halt. He looked up, but Jaskier wouldn’t meet his eyes. He went back to his swords.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Geralt said after a moment. “It was… you’re human. It was tense. Emotions were high.”

“Doesn’t excuse it,” Jaskier said softly, and a pang shot through his chest.

“It’s okay.”

“I regret it.”

Geralt grit his teeth. “Clearly.”

Jasker’s head spun. “Well then— then why are you still _here_?”

“You’re my _friend_ , despite it all.”

“How does that not make it worse, Geralt? You were supposed to be able to trust me.”

“Well, then how about this. You’re a human, with human faults. Is that enough for you? Do I need more reasons to care?”

“I don’t need you to pity me, Geralt!” He tried to rise up on an elbow but the pain sent him back down. He finally turned his cold, fiery gaze on Geralt. “Fuck— I don’t want pity! If you’re only going to look at me like the coward I am then turn me loose and I’ll— I’ll go back to Oxenfurt, I’ll start over somewhere, but I won’t, I can’t deal with _pity_. Even if I am pitiable, even if I am…” he waved his non-bandaged hand, “the way I am.”

Geralt stared back blankly and then frowned. “Why would I think you were a coward?”

Jaskier stared blankly back before squinting. “Because I… the Axii. What the hell were you talking about?”

“The. What you— what you said— about me. Feelings.” He looked down at his swords. Swords didn’t fall in love. Another reason to like swords.

“N—Ger— I— I’m a coward, I’m a fraud and a disaster and I _failed you_ , Geralt, I failed you, and Yennefer, and Ciri, and everyone who’s relying on us to hold things together which at my estimation is at least half the continent, if not more. How is that not what you’re focusing on?!”

“You didn’t _fail_ anyone. You were afraid of giving up information. You asked for help. You were trying to protect us. And yourself. That’s not failure. You fought off _three guards_. You broke your own hand. On purpose”

“I was supposed to be brave! I didn’t last a minute in there. They hadn’t even done anything to us Geralt, and I folded. I can’t be scared right now, I’m not supposed to be, I could only fight because you used magic, and you only did that because I begged.”

Geralt shifted himself and sat on Jaskier’s bed. “The… fear of facing something is the same pain, twice felt. Anxiety is useless, fear… not entirely helpful. But if you _lose_ your fear, you get… dull. Oblivious. It’s the balance. Of being afraid, but not falling into speculation. It’s not easy.” He waited for Jaskier to meet his eyes. “You’re not trained for this. You can’t expect yourself to not feel this kind of fear the first time you’re really presented with it.”

“It was cowardly.”

“And?”

Jaskier frowned. “And I should— I ought to be better than cowardly. For all of you, at least.”

“‘Cowardly’ has kept you alive, more often than not. You’re brave when you need to be. About… other things. Things I couldn’t be brave about if I wanted to be, and I do. I don’t… I don’t fault you for asking for it, Jaskier. You shouldn’t fault yourself either. It won’t do you much good.”

Jaskier sighed, unconvinced but unwilling to argue more. Someone knocked at the door, to tell them the bath was ready. Silence hung again.

“We… when we get to Kaer Morhen…” Jaskier perked up at this in surprise, “we can work on it. If you want. It could happen again. If you want to prepare for it, feel more ready, we can find a way to get you prepared for it. If that’s what you want.”

“…Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt frowned. “That’s where we’re going.”

“Well that’s where _you’re_ going but I thought— well, you know—”

“That I’d leave you behind,” Geralt finished.

“Again,” they said, together, eyes not meeting.

“Wouldn’t fault you if you did,” Jaskier said with a small smile.

“You’re in this now. They know you, they know we’re connected, it’s already happened once… it’s more of a risk to leave you behind than not.”

“Ah, right. Can’t have me blabbing away.”

“No,” Geralt agreed. “But you’re also… wanted, there.”

Jaskier’s eyes twinkled, dimmer than usual, but there, and that was enough. “Need some entertainment up in that lonely keep? A barker for the winter? A dashing troubadour, a mellifluous bard, a—”

“Don’t push it.” Geralt held his stony expression for a moment before a grin cut across his face, and Jaskier grew one to match.

Their smiles were small, but even that seemed a victory now. Jaskier looked down at Geralt’s hand, which at some point had migrated to rest on his leg. “I… I certainly said some things back there, didn’t I?” he said softly.

“Mmm.”

“And that was what you meant, earlier. Feelings.”

“Yep.”

“Right. Well. I… no sense hiding it now, I suppose. I can’t remember it all, but if it was about you, and about— about love, then I meant it. Have for a while, actually.”

They were both silent again, and— his own feelings weren’t something he’d ever been able to articulate. But things had come close, and he’d lost something he hadn’t even realized he really had. So with small, careful movements, Geralt lifted his own hand and took Jaskier’s non-bandaged one in his own.

“Oh,” Jaskier said blankly. “ _Oh_. Oh, Geralt. Really?”

Geralt nodded.

“Oh. Well. You’ve stolen speech from me. I’m…” he tangled their fingers together, and Geralt gave a light squeeze. “Wow. I knew there was… but I didn’t think… wow.”

“Mmm,” Geralt said, and finally looked back to see Jaskier staring at their intertwined hands, a flush high on his cheeks. Eventually, he looked back up, and something on Geralt’s face made the bard’s expression go from awestruck to… sympathetic, maybe.

“No rush, yeah? We’ve had this long, we can take a little longer.”

Something in his chest loosened. “Thank you.”

“Oh, dear, it’s my pleasure. Can I… would you mind if I said it again, under significantly less duress?”

Geralt nodded, slower this time. Their eyes met firmly, though Jaskier’s gaze was soft. More than anything, he wanted to summon one of the dozens, maybe hundreds of speeches he’d written to Geralt about this subject, but none came to him. So he let the words use him, instead.

“Geralt. I love you. Deeply. I have loved you, in fact, for well over a decade now, and I was infatuated with you years before that. I mean it, really and truly. I’ll take you any way you come. Pun originally unintended there, but extremely intended now that I’ve heard myself say it.”

They looked at each other— it’d been five days without real eye contact, and they soaked each other in greedily, just looking a gift in it of itself. Jaskier ran a thumb across Geralt’s fingers. “And, again, sorry, excitement here, not to rush, genuinely, but if you’ll allow me the indulgence?” Geralt, confused, nodded once more and watched in muted shock as Jaskier brought the Witcher’s hands to his lips and gave them a chaste kiss. He could feel the smile on his face bloom wider against his knuckles, and if this stuttering in his chest is what love was supposed to be, he’d take every ounce. Jaskier lowered their still connected hands, while Geralt used his free one to push at his stomach.

“Butterflies?” Jaskier asked slyly.

“No,” Geralt answered, and looked like he was considering something deeply. “More like… bees.”

“I give you… bees? Or— Oh, like the birds and the bees, alright now we’re—”

“There are no birds in my stomach. They just feel like bees.”

“Okay, well. This is off to a rousing start.”

“Are bees not a normal side effect of… this?”

“ _No_ , Geralt, it’s not typically… oh my god, you insolent bastard, you’re doing your oblivious witcher act again, aren’t you! Oh no no no, you won’t fool me.” Jaskier threw his head against his pillow defiantly but squeezed their hands again. Some hair fell in front of his face, greasy and unwashed.

Geralt huffed a laugh, and then gently— “Geralt, what are you— oh—” scooped Jaskier into his arms, careful to mind his healing wounds.

“Let me clean you up.”

“Wow. Okay. A lot of things are changing very suddenly for us. This is fine. It’s really— okay. Why am I… why am I nervous?”

“Don’t know,” Geralt shrugged. “Guess you’ve got to be brave.” He sat Jaskier down, gently undid his bandages, and laid him in the warm water.

“This is usually my job,” Jaskier muttered.

“You’ve been through enough this week. My turn,” Geralt said, and let himself bury his face in Jaskier’s hair for a moment.

Jaskier felt tears welling up again behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure he deserved this, not really, the fear of his own inadequacy building up once more. But as two small tears ran down his cheeks, Geralt smiled down at him, and he started to feel… well, maybe peace a non-Axii’d, real, genuine peace he hadn’t known before. Then again, maybe Geralt was right. Maybe it was bees.

He let the warm sensation of the water soothe his aching joints and sighed deeply in contentment, let his eyes fall shut, and smiled.

Geralt splashed his face with water. He smiled wider.

Definitely bees.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Hope you enjoyed! If you wanna see more of my work/follow along my Febuwhump journey, you can subscribe to the series I've created for my own prompts, subscribe to me here on ao3, or follow me on my tumblr, J-Pankratz.tumblr.com. I may someday expand upon this with a chapter at Kaer Morhen, but it is a one-shot for now, so there will not be updates in the near future on this fic. Thank you for reading!!


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